


28. Ian makes a really bad choice... and Antony helps out

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [28]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF, Vampire Diaries RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing credit: Joseph Gordon Levitt - Starlingsings</p><p>This log is from the Ian Somerhalder/Joseph Gordon Levitt storyline but involves Antony so it's being posted as part of Antony & Stephen's storyline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	28. Ian makes a really bad choice... and Antony helps out

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for sexual assault, forced drug use and possible triggers

The following day finds Joe distracted and busy, and Ian unsettled. After a restless night Ian had rolled out of bed right after his lover, he’s fussed a little over the swelling of Joe’s lip, the split, but Joe’d brushed it aside and Ian’d let him go. 

His daily yoga does nothing to soothe the uncomfortable feeling of ‘not right’ indeed it builds, until Ian wonders if he needs pain of his own to get his head on straight. With the house tidied and all his correspondence taken care off Ian doesn’t have enough to distract himself. 

Ironically, Joe has plenty of work to distract him... and yet he’s still sitting there in front of his monitors nearly an hour later, poking idly at his fat lip and replaying last night over and over again in excruciating detail. It’s like when you lose a tooth and can’t keep your tongue out of the hole, even though it hurts like hell... or split your lip and can’t keep yourself from poking at it...

Joe does eventually get to work - his self-discipline has always been pretty good - and when he finishes up last night’s writing in a little less than an hour, he stands up and stretches, deciding to reward himself with an early second cup of coffee.

Ian’s out on the deck, laptop perched on his knee, punching keys a little harder than they need, he’s irritated and distinctly grouchy and he has no idea why. He scans the Cit boards, finds nothing to interest him there, checks his emails, firing one off to Jess about getting together for dinner soon. And then he pushes it aside with a noise of frustration. 

_Maybe it’s just the coke, dicking you around for an extra day...just...sit with it..._

When he catches movement out of the corner of his eye when he comes out of the studio, Joe makes a detour. Sticking his head out the door, he calls for Ian’s attention, “Hey! I’m making coffee, you want some? Or some tea or something?”

“Tea,” Ian glances up from where he’s prodding his laptop in an effort to turn it off. “Please,” he adds as an afterthought. He makes no attempt to get up from the lounger, dropping back into it instead with a loud exhale. 

“‘Kay,” Joe replies before pulling his head back inside and heading into the kitchen. It’s only a few minutes later when he comes back out, this time with two mugs in hand. He’s still feeling twenty kinds of raw inside but he’s making an effort for ‘normal’ and thinks he’s doing a pretty good job when he goes to hand Ian his tea and his hand doesn’t shake even a little bit. “Here you go, baby,” he says softly, holding the mug out.

The ‘baby’, has Ian looking up, and he manages a smile. Joe looks tired, and the bruising of his lip doesn’t please Ian like it should. “Thanks darlin’,” he murmurs taking the mug. 

When he hears the endearment, something twists up inside of Joe but he gives Ian a sweet little smile, covering. “You’re welcome,” he says, sitting down next to him with his own mug of coffee cradled between both hands.

They sip their drinks in silence for a while, until Ian turns to look at his lover. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt your mouth too much last night?”

“It’ll be a helluva thing to have to try and explain when I go in to do my ‘Regularity’ vid tomorrow,” Joe jokes, dimples winking, though he very carefully doesn’t smile wide enough to re-split the lip, “But yeah, it’s fine...” His voice drops a little when Joe admits, “You hurt me as much as I wanted you to last night.”

“I should have checked, I’m sorry,” Ian reaches up to let his fingertips dance over Joe’s cheek before letting his hand fall away. “Next time, I’ll do something planned, talk to you, a proper structured scene, it’s been awhile since we did that,” he offers. 

“It’s okay,” Joe turns to look at Ian full-on, “I wanted you to hurt me,” _I needed you to hurt me so I could concentrate on_ that _pain instead of the ache in my chest_. “But that sounds good,” he adds in response to Ian’s offer, “I’d like that.”

Ian nods and weighs up what he wants to say next - in the end he just goes for it. “Talking of sceneing...” he starts. “I’m going to call Antony. Today. I need to see him,” he lays it out. “You asked me to tell you when I was planning to go,”

Though he’s a little uneasy at the prospect, Joe nods. “I did,” he agrees, “Thank you for telling me.” And _that_ he means - he’s extremely grateful that Ian’s told him.

“Do you want me to come back here afterward?” Ian asks, curling his legs up under him. “I’ll probably be a mess, I told him he could have my face when I was on hiatus,” And Ian has two weeks left - just enough time. 

“Yes, please,” Joe answers, “Come home to me?” He didn’t really mean it to come out like that, but there’s no taking it back now. It’s how he feels about it, anyway.

“Home...” It’s not a question. But Ian realises Joe’s right, for the time being this _is_ his home. Wherever Joe is, is his home. 

“Yeah, I’ll come home,” he nods, reaching out to give Joe’s leg a squeeze. 

Leaning over, Joe presses a kiss high up against the corner of Ian’s jaw. “Thank you,” he murmurs there, and then, because he can’t seem to help himself, “Love you.”

Their exchange, it occurs, to Ian, is all a little stilted. And for the first time today Ian starts to worry. When Joe pulls away he Ian looks more closely, and it’s there, now he’s paying attention. Something in his lover’s eyes, something Joe doesn’t want him to see. 

“I hear you,” he murmurs back. 

Joe’s heart squeezes a little in his chest at that, both with the familiarity of the words, the significance of them between them, and because of what it’s _not_. He gives Ian another small smile, one that won’t pull too much at his lip, and sits back again, staring over the side of the deck and sipping at his coffee. Truth is, he feels a lot more bruised inside than he does outside.

Ian’s not sure what to say - if anything - and it’s one of the first times he can recall a silence between them not being comfortable. He fidgets in his seat, sips his tea and struggles to find something to say latching - eventually - on the new house. 

“Would you like to invite some people over for dinner when we move in? A housewarming?” he offers quietly. “Jess wants to meet you,”

The smile’s up in the crinkling corners of his eyes this time when Joe turns back to look at Ian again. “I’d like to meet her, too,” he says, “A small ‘housewarming’ dinner sounds good. Lemme think about it and get back to you on who I’d like to invite?” Because, while he has lots of ‘friends’ who’re a step up from ‘acquaintances’, there aren’t that many people with whom Joe’s particularly close.

“I’d like to meet your parents,” There. Ian puts that out there between them. “When you’re ready,”

Joe’s whole face softens and he reaches over to run fingertips down Ian’s cheek. “They’re dying to meet you,” he informs Ian, dimples just barely starting to flash, “Mom thinks you’re ‘quite handsome’.”

“Only ‘quite’?” Ian grins, tilting his face into that touch. “We’re a proper couple now Joe...I want to meet them, I want them to see I’m serious about you, about us,”

“Hey, that’s effusive, coming from my mom!” Joe laughs softly, shifting his hand so that he’s cupping Ian’s cheek in his palm now. He wants to ask ‘are you really? serious?’ or ‘how serious?’, but Joe settles instead for telling Ian, “I’ll give them a call and set something up. Couple’a weeks from now so we both have time to recover our ‘pretty’, hmm?” One teasing eyebrow lifts at that last.

“Good plan,” Ian nods, he turns his head to kiss Joe’s palm. “We can cook them dinner, behave like proper grown ups,” he’s smiling when he straightens up. “I’ll even watch my fucking language,”

There’s no helping the light shiver that runs down Joe’s spine when Ian presses lips to his sensitive palm. He’s smiling, though, when he tells his lover, “Well, there should always be someone at the table who does, I guess.”

“Dick,” Ian accuses softly, with a wink. “Consider it a date,” he adds more firmly. He sits back in his seat, his attention once more on his drink. 

“That’s me,” Joe agrees, getting up. He comes around and bends down to press a kiss to Ian’s temple on his way inside. “I gotta get back to work,” he murmurs.

Ian watches Joe disappear - and he still can’t shake the feeling that something is off, something is wrong and he can’t see it. It just adds to his earlier discomfort - pissing him off with no particular target. 

“Fuck it...”

Reaching for his phone Ian types out a quick, to the point message. 

_ Hey Antony, it’s Ian. Need to see you, need a fix asap. Call me. _

He hits send and drops the phone. 

************************************

By late afternoon Ian is beyond fucked off, two more messages to Antony have gone unanswered, and he’d recalled that his erstwhile Sadist said he was often out of the country. So with that thought in mind he scrolls through his contacts to find a name and number he hasn’t used in months. 

He has an answer within five minutes. It has him hurrying back inside to shower and prepare. 

Though he’d glanced up when he’d heard Ian come back inside, Joe hadn’t done more than mentally note it. He’s deep in the day’s work now and really wants nothing more than to get it done at a decent hour.

Freshly showered, wearing old jeans and a plain tee Ian pops his head around the door of the studio. “I’m out. I have my phone, but if I don’t get right back to you I will as soon as I can,” he’s antsy now, ready to go and get his pain fix. “I’ll be late, but don’t worry okay?”

Looking up when Ian sticks his head in, Joe nods that he’s heard. At his last, though, Joe holds Ian’s eyes and solemnly tells him, “I’m going to worry, but I promise to try not to smother you with it.”

Ian nods, “It was a poor choice of words,” he steps up and leans down to kiss Joe’s upturned face. “I look forward to you fussing over me when I get back,” he offers quietly. “Okay?”

“Good,” Joe replies, his hand coming up to rest on Ian’s hip, thumb rubbing restlessly back and forth, “Because I’m going to. Fuss, that is.” He nods, hand tightening before he lets it drop, “Okay, you should get going, I guess.”

Ian nods, and pauses, just to memorise his lover’s face. “Don’t forget to eat,” he murmurs pulling back and stepping out of the room. 

“Probably will!” Joe calls after him, a little humor finally tinging his voice.

*************************

Ian’s never been in so much pain in his life. Ever. The cab driver keeps bitching at him that he needs a hospital, but all Ian can think about is getting home. Home to Joe, like he promised. He has one arm wrapped around his waist, each shallow breath like he’s inhaling glass, his left eye is swollen shut and his lip is split - the only upside is no one will recognise him like this. The moment they pull up outside Joe’s place Ian shoves money at the driver with a shaking hand and staggers out, stumbling up the path. He hunts for his key, as the world tilts he leans on the door and gives up, hitting it with his free hand. 

“Joe...JOE!”

It’s a good thing Joe’s not doing audio tonight, or he wouldn’t have heard the pounding. Frowning, he makes his way to the front of the house and unlocks the door, talking as he opens it, “I thought you said you had your key...”

Because he was leaning on it, Ian falls in when the door opens, the light making him squint shut his good eye, he tries to reach out to keep himself upright and fails. The vague feeling of nausea threatening to morph into something much more definite. 

Automatically reaching out, Joe catches Ian when he falls in. It takes a couple of seconds to register how badly beat-up Ian looks but when he does, Joe’s appalled. “Ian!” he whispers, caught standing there in the open doorway with his arms around his lover, “God, baby! What did you do?”

“It went wrong...” Ian slurs, hands grasping at Joe, his lover is his comfort right now - the only comfort. “It all went wrong...” he repeats, and starts to heave, bile burning the back of his throat. He can barely stand and the room starts to spin. 

After that, Joe moves swiftly. He gets up under one of Ian’s arms so he can support him and closes and locks the front door before starting to move them towards the garage.

“Where...where..you...going?” Ian reaches out to wall, the pressure Joe’s got under his arm is hurting his ribs, making it harder still to breath. Indeed his voice is thin and raw. “Bathroom...” he manages before letting out a low moan of pain. 

“You are beat to hell, bleeding-- somewhere, I can’t even figure out where at the moment, and you’re probably concussed. Where the fuck do you think I’m going, Ian?” Joe’s voice isn’t quite panicked, but he’s obviously not far from it, either.

“Not hos..hospital,” Ian shakes his head, and regrets it moments later. “No...can’t,” he retches again and his legs start to give. 

“Baby, I can’t--” Joe’s voice cracks a little as he holds Ian up, careful not to jostle him further, “I don’t know how to take care of this. This is way beyond a band-aid and a kiss to make it better...”

“Please....bed...please...” Ian begs, “I hurt so m...much...please,” He turns his face to Joe’s and hopes that his lover will see sense. He can’t go to the hospital like this, not when he’s wearing strap marks down his back - too many questions, too much to lose. 

A quiet little sob of breath catches in the back of Joe’s throat. As much as he’d like to keep fighting this battle, he knows he can’t just stand there and prop Ian up forever to do it. “It’s because you hurt so much that I want you to go get taken care of properly, “Joe husks out, though he’s already turning them back towards the bedroom.

Ian doesn’t recall the shuffledrag of his journey to the bed, the next thing he’s really aware of is Joe tugging at his clothes. He’s propped up on the bed, his boots have gone and his breathing is wickedly painful. “M’sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to Joe with a shaking hand. 

Taking that hand in his, Joe presses a kiss to the palm and presses it against his face for a second. “It’ll be okay, baby,” he murmurs, getting back to work on trying to strip Ian as gently as possible and _not panic_ , “It’ll be okay...”

Ian closes his eye, and hopes Joe’s right. All he can think about right now is the pain, not one single part of him doesn’t hurt in some way. He’s never endured anything like it. When Joe tries to pull at his tee it has Ian in tears, his breath ragged and shallow, “No...stop...stop..”

“Okay,” Joe says quickly, nearly in tears himself, “Okay. Let me-- I’ll go get some scissors, okay? Just-- stay still.” And he heads quickly back out to the kitchen, returning quickly with the poultry shears. “Okay, just let me...” Joe murmurs, brow furrowed as he starts cutting the t-shirt off of Ian.

Ian lays still, it offers him a little relief to not move, but he also needs to try and think, and he can’t do that when he’s fighting for each breath. “My phone....get...phone,” he rasps out as Joe peels away the remains of his tee, exposing his belly and chest. He doesn’t want to look down, he knows he’s bruised to fuck, being kicked repeatedly will do that to a guy. 

“Jesus christ!” Joe breathes, ghosting his fingertips delicately down Ian’s side. He has to shake himself out of it a little bit and turns his eyes up to Ian’s face. “Phone?” he asks, “Where is it?”

“Pocket,” Ian licks over his swollen lip - he could really do with some water - “back..pocket...”

As gently as he can, Joe reaches around to Ian’s back pocket, slowly easing the phone out before sitting up again and holding it where Ian can see it. “Okay, got it,” he says, “Who’re we calling?”

“Antony,” Ian hisses as he’s hit with a fresh wave of pain. “He’ll know what to..to do,” Totally forgetting he’d concluded the guy must be out of the country just hours earlier. 

Joe’s face goes all still and hard when he hears that. “Antony,” he says flatly. Why the fuck would he call up the guy who did this? So he can finish the job? Shaking his head, Joe tells Ian, “Try again.”

Ian frowns, confused by Joe’s reaction. “Antony...call him...” he pushes up to try for the phone, and just ends up setting off a new cascade of agony along his side. “Joe...call him...”

The struggle is clear on Joe’s face - he makes no effort to hide it - but he gives in once again, though not happily. “Fine,” he snaps, scrolling through the contacts, planning out just how big a piece of his mind he’s going to give this guy

Ian’s still too concerned with simply breathing without searing pain to wonder what it is that has Joe so pissy about calling Antony. Clearly they need help - and Ian’s sure Antony is the man that can provide it. 

Antony's been out all day with Stephen on a rare day off for both of them. Shopping, movie, dinner. An actual date. His phone turned the hell off to stop Marcus from bugging the shit out of him about the upcoming job. But he turns it on when they get back to his place, rolling his eyes as he scrolls through the number of messages from Marcus, and cursing softly under his breath when he sees the three from Ian. Fuck. He's just about to respond when his phone rings - Ian again - and he answers with, "Hey. How's it going?" A smile flashed at Stephen.

Gritting his teeth at the smile in the voice on the other end of the line, Joe practically spits out, “Oh, about how you’d expect for someone left on my doorstep in that kind of condition.” The look he gives Ian is fierce and quelling, daring him to remark on his tone.

It’s only at these words that it falls into place - that Joe assumes that Antony did this to him - he shifts on the bed, and tries to shake his head. _No...No...it wasn’t..._

Antony frowns. What the fuck. "Who's this?" Shrugging at the questioning look his boy gives him.

Stephen’s tuned into this, it’s clearly not one of _those_ calls, the calls Antony takes regarding work, the ones where his lover and Sir tends to turn his back. He sets the freshly made cup of coffee down in front of his lover and takes the seat beside him. 

“This is Joe,” he snaps, face flushed with his rioting emotions, “Ian said to call you, though I sure as shit don’t know why, seeing the way you left him.”

"The way I--?" Antony's still trying to make sense of the sentence. "Look. I didn't leave Ian any fucking way. I've been out all day and my phone's been turned off. What happened?"

Joe goes cold and feels the blood draining from his face. “Oh, baby, no--” he whispers, looking down at Ian. Clearing his throat, he stammers a little when he turns his attention back to the man on the other end of the line. “Li-listen, Antony, I--I’m sorry. This is Joe,” he blows out a breath, letting his worry start to come through in his voice, “Apparently Ian went to someone else. He asked me to call you, he--” Joe has to swallow before he finishes, “He’s in bad shape and won’t let me take him to the ER.”

Clearly Antony has put Joe straight, and Ian simply closes his eyes, willing away another wave of nausea. _Oh fuck...please...please...I just..._. He swallows, wishing he could just pass the fuck out and be done. 

Christ. Antony closes his eyes for a moment. Ian, hurt badly enough Joe thinks he needs the fucking ER. The thought makes his stomach churn, a fine thread of anger running underneath. He just hopes Ian has a name to give him. "Where are you? Ian's?"

 _Ian_. It’s a name Stephen’s familiar with and clearly this is bad news, Antony’s face is a mix of anger and worry he’s never seen before. He reaches out to put a comforting hand on his Sir’s knee and he squeezes it. 

“No, he’s here,” Joe shakes his head as he answers, his free hand coming up to rub up over the hair at the back of his neck, “At my place...” _Home_.

"Text me your address. I'll be there as soon as I can," Antony says, pulling Stephen in close and hugging him.

Blowing out a breath, Joe relents, “Yeah, okay. See you in a few,” before hanging up and sending a text with his address. He’s still unsure - he’s never met this Antony guy - but he’s willing to put that aside for the moment.

**************

Returning the hug Stephen rubs along Antony’s back. “What happened?” he asks quietly, aware that their evening plans just got derailed. The tension in his lover is palpable. 

"Ian went to someone else because he couldn't get a hold of me and it sounds like he got the shit beat out of him. Like, really beat out of him. Joe - that's his boyfriend - wants him to go to the hospital and he's refusing." Antony checks his phone, making sure he has the address, then looks at Stephen. "I'm sorry. I need to go take care of this. Make sure he's okay."

“Ian? The actor?” Stephen pulls back to study Antony’s face, he reaches up to try and smooth the frown marring his lover’s forehead with his fingers. He blows out a breath. “S’okay, so go, if he needs you,” he nods. “Just text me to let me know what’s going on, and if there’s anything...anything I can do...” he trails off. 

Antony nods, thankful for Stephen's understanding. "I will. I'll keep you posted," he promises. "Just - be here when I get back?" Not that he really thinks Stephen's going anywhere but it's going to be a rough night and knowing he has his boy to come home to... it's important.

“Where else would I be?” Stephen gives a little eye roll. “I’ll be right here Tony. Always,” he leans in and presses a quick kiss to his lover’s mouth. “Now go...”

**************************

After he’s finished the text with his address, Joe drops the phone down on the nightstand and reaches out to brush gentle fingers over Ian’s knee. “He’s on the way,” he whispers, “Ready to try getting those jeans off now?” He knows Ian’s comfort level will go up some once he’s out of them.

“Cut them,” Ian murmurs, he doesn’t want to move more than he has to. “M’bleeding...” he adds, frowning. “Feel sick...” He can’t seem to think straight enough to form proper sentences. 

“I know you’re bleeding, baby,” Joe croaks out around a lump in his throat the size of a fist, “I just don’t know where from. Where’re you cut? Ian, baby, talk to me.” Because he’s pretty sure Ian’s got a concussion and he’s seen enough tv to know you’re not supposed to go to sleep if you’re concussed.

Glad now that he’d grabbed the poultry shears (at the time, they were the only scissors he could think of that he knew _exactly_ where they were), Joe starts at the hem of each leg of Ian’s jeans, cutting slowly up the outside until he can just fold them off and tug them out from under him.

“Back, he h...hhit me with belt,” Ian stutters, he’s fighting to keep his good eye open, to look at Joe, as much as he hates seeing his lover in distress, he needs that small comfort of knowing Joe’s right here, right by him. “I..I hurt everywhere,” his voice finally cracks and a tear seeps from his swollen eye. 

Gingerly sitting down beside Ian on the edge of the bed again, Joe tenderly brushes the hair back off of Ian’s forehead. He has to swallow a couple of times before he can say anything, but he eventually whispers, “I know, baby, I know you do. I need you to keep talking to me, though, okay? I need to know that you’re still with me...”

“Water...can I have a drink?” He’s thirsty as fuck and all he can taste is his own blood. “Please?” he reaches for Joe’s hand, his fingers like ice as he closes them around Joe’s. 

“Yeah,” Joe presses Ian’s fingers gently, “‘Course you can. Want me to bring a washcloth? Start wiping things down a little?” He’s almost hoping Ian says no, because truth? Joe’s about at his limit of what he can handle right now.

“Drink...and a bowl I feel so sick,” Ian has to stop from shaking his head again, every damned time he does it’s like a hammer blow. “Then sit with me...” And he sounds so fucking needy. 

“Okay,” Joe straightens up, “Let’s get you turned around here so your head’s on a pillow...” It takes a minute but they get Ian straightened out in the bed and Joe puts the plastic waste basket right by his head. “There you go,” he says quietly, petting the hair back off of Ian’s forehead again, “If you need to puke, just turn your head.” Then he’s heading back out to the kitchen for a couple of bottles of water and a straw so Ian can drink lying down.

Antony makes it to Joe's in good time, the traffic surprisingly light. He parks on the street, doublechecks the address then heads up the front walk, his shoulders shrugged out, tension eased as much as it can be, before he pushes the doorbell.

Tucking one of the water bottles under his arm so he can have a free hand, Joe unlocks and opens the door part-way. _There’s something familiar-- do I know?--_ “Antony?” he asks, blocking the doorway until he gets an answer.

Antony nods. "Yeah." Eyes narrowing as he gets a good look at Ian's Joe. Fuck. He's certain he knows the guy. Definitely from movies. But maybe from the club too. “You gonna let me in?”

Instead of moving back to let the man in, Joe asks another question, not nearly as antagonistic-sounding as the first. “Do I-- know you?”

"Maybe. I was thinking I might have seen you at this club I go to," Antony says, figuring that's safe enough. "Private club."

 _Oooooohh..._ Playing along, just to make sure he’s hearing what he’s hearing, Joe replies, “Best lobster bisque outside of Maine?”

Christ. "Yeah." Antony laughs, shaking his head. "You're a member?" Shit. It quickly dawning on him that if Joe's a member... "Is Ian?"

Joe’s moving out of the doorway now, letting it swing wide so Antony can come in. “Yeah, he is,” he says, “That’s where we met.”

"Well, that should make this easier," Antony says, still shaking his head. Fuck. "How is he?"

Face pinching up at Antony’s question, Joe shakes his head. “He’s-- he’s in really bad shape,” he says, eyes taking on that almost-but-not-quite-overwhelmed look from earlier.

Antony nods. "I brought my first aid kit," he says, holding up the small gray toolbox. "I wasn't sure you'd have one. You want to take me to him and I'll check him out? See what I can do. Worst-case scenario, we can call up one of the Citadel docs, take him to one of the private clinics."

Just knowing that he’ll have someone on his side about a doctor if it comes to that has Joe relaxing slightly. “That--” his voice shakes a little and he swallows before trying again, starting back towards the bedroom, “That sounds good. Thanks.”

"I'm just sorry I wasn't around to help him out in the first place," Antony says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he follows Joe.

Joe sighs quietly under his breath, “So ‘m I.”

Antony steps into the bedroom, behind Joe, his first look at Ian making his gut clench hard. "Just couldn't wait for me, could you?" he says with a soft smile, walking over and crouching down beside the bed, taking a closer look.

Ian reaches out to curl his fingers around Antony’s arm. “An’ I paid for it...” the corner of his mouth curls up in a mockery of a smile. “Thank you...” he adds, squeezing Antony’s arm. 

Antony sets his first aid kit down and puts a hand over Ian's, squeezing back. "How much pain are you in?" he asks. "Scale of one to ten."

“Eleven, an’ then some,” Ian licks over his lip again, he shifts a little and grimaces. “Beat me with a belt...then kicked...everywhere....” 

"Okay. Joe, can you get me a bowl of warm water, a washcloth and a couple of towels?" Antony asks, glancing over his shoulder at the man still standing there, frozen behind him. "I want to clean you up a bit," he tells Ian, "and then I'm going to have to touch you - gently - to see what's what. Okay?"

“Yeah s’fine, need a drink though,” Ian’s gaze flickers back to his lover, now Antony’s here he can relax, knowing that they’ll both be taken care of. 

“He can have water,” Antony says to Joe. “And I could use some too, if you wouldn’t mind.” He shifts to sitting on the edge of the bed beside Ian. “You might get a kick out of this,” he murmurs, while they wait, Ian too covered in bruises and blood for him to get started. “But Joe and I recognized each other. From the same very exclusive club we’re all apparently members of.”

It takes awhile for that to sink in Ian’s pain-mashed brain, but he snorts, then groans in pain. “Shittin’ me?” he queries, eye on the door watching Joe disappear. 

"Would I shit you about something like that?" Antony chuckles, concerned that Ian's in so much pain and pretty damn certain he doesn't have all the tools needed to deal with the damage. "And because of that, if I take a closer look at you and this isn't all just bruising and a couple of cuts, you're going to let Joe and I take you to the one of the Citadel clinics. And when the doctor says you need to spend a night in there for observation, you're not going to say a fucking thing except yes, sir. Right?"

Ian holds Antony’s gaze, blue eyes so like his own. “I got coke an’ E in me. I did the coke, he made me take the E...s’why I’m so sick...” Ian glances at the door, hoping Joe’s gone a little longer. “I’ve got lost time...I don’t know if he was safe...” And that’s his biggest fear here, that he’s been fucked raw. “I don’t even know if he fucked me,” Ian swallows hard. “S’why I couldn’t go to the ER.”

Shit. Antony exhales softly, giving Ian's hand a squeeze. _Goddamn fucking bastard. He's going to hunt him down..._ "In that case, I have a doctor I can call - he's affiliated with Citadel and runs his own clinic. I can get him to keep quiet on the drugs and he'll run a rape kit, see if there's semen. Do the usual testing. I'm pretty sure just looking at you that you're going to need stitches and this," very gently touching the bruising on Ian's side, "looks like kidney damage. Hopefully it's only bruising."

Ian’s still checking the door, as he replies. “I’ll see him, whatever you want....just...don’t tell Joe...not until we know one w...way or the other,” He tugs on Antony’s hand and turns his gaze back to him. “He’s...he’s my boy...you understand?” 

Antony nods. "I do," now more than ever, "and I'll make sure he doesn't find out. But you have to do me a favour," he says, although he'll make sure Joe doesn't find out either way. "You need to give me the name of the asshole who did this to you."

He studies Antony for a moment. “Why?” he asks, because...this is his mess. 

"Because someone should make sure he pays for this," Antony says quietly but firmly, intent on getting the name one way or another, "and that he doesn't get a chance to do it to anyone else."

There’s an implication there, whilst Ian’s still fuzzy headed from it all, he’s aware that Antony is talking about dealing with this in a less than legal fashion, after all, there’s no way in hell Ian’s going to the police on this. 

“I don’t want you getting into trouble on my account...” Ian tries to take a deeper breath and finds himself whimpering in pain. “F..fuck...” 

"Hey. It's okay. We'll talk later," Antony says. "Once we've got you taken care of." Besides, he can always hack Ian's phone records, find out that way. Which might be better for everyone all around. 

“Look after Joe...yeah? He’s...we’re...” Ian pauses, frowning. “He...loves me...” he finishes lamely, like that’ll explain everything. 

"I will," Antony promises, knowing perfectly well, even without Ian saying it, that it works both ways. "You still want me to clean you up before we go in?" he asks, as Joe comes back in.

“Yeah, please,” Though all Ian can think about is the water Joe has. “Hey...darlin’” he murmurs at his lover, reaching out for him. 

“Hey, baby,” Joe whispers back, setting down the bowl of warm water and the two bottles of cold that he’s had tucked under his arm since he answered the door and forgot about. Looking at Antony, he asks, “We taking him to a doc? D’you still want towels?”

"Yeah. I'm going to clean him up a bit first. It'll make it easier at the clinic if they don't have to do that and better if we run into anyone, which I'm hoping we won't," Antony says, reaching for the one of the bottles and cracking it open. He pulls a straw from the toolbox and strips the plastic from it, popping it into the bottle and offering it to Ian. With his other hand, he pulls out his cellphone and thumbs through his contacts, listening to the ring and then thumbing in his number when he gets Matt's pager.

Ian takes the water gratefully, he needs to get rid of the coppery dirt taste in his mouth and the E has made him intensely thirsty. He sucks down two mouthfuls before it catches and he coughs, spluttering as his ribs let him know in no uncertain terms that is a really bad idea. 

"Slowly," Antony murmurs, setting his phone on the bed beside them. "You could be dealing with cracked ribs too," he says, gently running his hand over Ian's sides. Nothing feels out of place which is good, but that doesn't mean there's not internal bleeding. "Are you nauseated, dizzy, did you puke?" he asks, reaching into his toolbox for a ear thermometer and placing a new cover on the end. "Turn your head for me."

“I’m feelin’ sick...I puked before I got here...” Now Joe’s back in the room he doesn’t want to remind Antony that he’s taken E, hoping the other man will remember from their last encounter when Ian had told him he avoided it because it always made him throw up. He turns his head a little, aware his temp will be up from the effects of the ecstasy too. 

"Okay, well your temperature's up but that could be your kidneys or your body trying to deal with its injuries," Antony, selecting his words carefully. "Same with the puking," he adds, although that could be the E from what Ian's told him. His phone rings just as Joe hands over the towels. "Start gently washing him. Face first and then work your way down," he tells Joe, taking the call. "Hey, Doc. How're you doing? Yeah. Sorry to bother you but I've got a mate badly hurt and he needs to see someone. Can't risk a regular ER." He rubs a hand over his face, giving Ian and Joe a small smile. "Citadel, not company. Possible kidney damage, cracked ribs, I'm worried about internal bleeding," he says, gesturing towards the hall and taking the call out of the bedroom.

The second he’s got something to do, Joe stops paying any sort of attention to Antony, his entire focus narrowing down to Ian. “Okay,” he says quietly, wringing out the washcloth over the bowl, “Just try to keep still. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” As he starts, Joe doesn’t scrub so much as dab at the dirt and blood on his lover’s face.

Watching Joe for a moment it shocks Ian how much it pains him to see his lover like this, it twists him up inside, adding a whole new layer of unpleasantness to an already shitty situation. 

“J...” He reaches up to curl his fingers around Joe’s wrist, stopping him for a moment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I did this...” he rasps out. 

“Good,” Joe’s voice cracks and he gulps a couple of quick breaths before he even tries to go on, “Ian, you can’t-- I can’t... You can’t do this again - not like this...” It’s there in Joe’s eyes, in his voice, in the taut line of his body, it’s clear just how shattered seeing Ian like this has left him.

“Not like this, never like this again, I promise,” Ian’s voice is raw with pain - emotional pain this time. “Joe, I promise you,” he adds fervently. Wanting to offer what little comfort he can. 

For a long moment, Joe looks down into Ian’s good eye. Finally he nods. “Okay,” and his voice still trembles, is still right on the edge of breaking. Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss - split lip to split lip. “Okay,” Joe repeats, now just a whisper, “I trust you.”

Antony quietly explains to Matt about Ian’s drug use and the possibility he’s had unprotected anal sex. He also makes it clear that Citadel is not to know about the first and Joe’s not to know about either. Giving Matt a rough time frame for their arrival, he ends the call and phones Stephen, letting him know they’re headed to the hospital and he’ll be a while yet.

Letting go of Joe’s hand Ian blows out a careful breath. “C’mon darlin’ get me cleaned up and then Antony can take me to get checked out,” he urges softly. “He’ll look after us both.”

After a second, Joe nods and straightens up. “Okay,” he whispers, turning to wipe his eyes in the shoulder of his t-shirt. He looks a bit more composed when he looks down at Ian again. Nodding more firmly, Joe repeats his, “Okay,” adding, “I love you,” before he starts gently dabbing at his lover’s face again, turning his focus to that.

The ‘I love you’ is like another kick, right in his gut, making Ian close his eyes and take a shuddery breath. He fists the bedclothes up in one hand and concentrates on keeping himself as still as he can. 

"They're expecting us," Antony says, coming back into the room. "Do you have any clothes here?" he asks Ian, watching Joe washing him up.

“Yeah...there’s some sweat pants, hoody in the closet,” Ian looks up at Antony, feeling a huge sense of gratitude toward him. “I’m kinda living here...” he adds with a twisted ghost of a smile at Joe. 

"That's great," Antony says, flashing a smile at both men. Seems like Joe's got Ian making all sorts of baby steps in the right direction. But of course that begs the question, what the hell happened for Ian to end up needing this? He rummages through the closet, locating sweatpants and hoodie and then helps Joe finish washing Ian up. "This is going to hurt like fuck, but there's no way around it," he says, helping Ian sit up as gently as he can.

The pain from the welts all over Ian’s back and butt come alive the moment he sits up, the fire in his ribs flares and for a moment his eyes roll as he fights a wave of nausea so violent he almost passes out. But somehow Joe and Antony get him reclothed and perched on the edge of the bed. 

Joe spends less time worrying about clothes - Antony seems to have that pretty well in hand - and more watching Ian’s face for signs he’s going to need the plastic trashcan Joe has sitting right beside where he’s kneeling, getting Ian’s feet into some shoes.

"Okay. I'm parked out front. We'll help you out and you can sit or lie down in the back, whichever feels better. And Joe can sit in the back with you." Antony blows out a breath. "We should probably bring that bin with us or if you have a couple plastic bags?" he says to Joe.

“Bring the bin.” Ian says as he steels himself to stand. He looks up at both men, “C’mon...let’s do this,” he says with a determination he really doesn’t feel. 

With the little plastic can in one hand, Joe tries to hook his other hand up above the worst of the bruising on Ian’s sides. Antony counts three and they all stand/straighten up and though Joe nearly panics when he feels Ian immediately sag between them again, a quick look tells him his lover’s still conscious. Actually, it’d probably be easier on them all if he wasn’t.

It takes some doing - and some weird sideways-crab-walking down the hallway - but they eventually get Ian out of the house and to the car. “What now?” Joe asks Antony quietly, not sure just how they’re supposed to manage this last bit with Ian in such bad shape.

“Just....jj..open the door...” Ian’s back to stuttering, his brain scrambled by the pain. “I...get in...” he grits his teeth and wills himself not to heave. 

Antony digs for his keys and unlocks the car. "Get in, scoot over, and I'll help him in from here," he tells Joe, taking more of Ian's weight. “And you shush,” he adds to Ian. “Let us take care of you.”

Nodding, Joe reluctantly releases Ian. “Okay,” he says, and then he’s moving around the car, slipping into the back seat, and reaching over to open the other door from the inside. “Okay,” he repeats, signalling his readiness.

Shuffling back, Ian gets his butt on the edge of the seat, and with Antony, supporting him he edges backward, before trying to twist around to tuck his legs in. Somehow he gets himself in, and leans back against the seat, eyes closed. 

It's only a twenty minute drive to the clinic but they're barely off Joe's street before Ian's puking his guts into the plastic bin. Antony puts down the windows some but steps on the gas. Getting there sooner is better than having to stop.

At the clinic, he pulls around back, to the door Matt uses for this type of client. He jumps out and presses the ringer on the intercom, letting the security desk know Dr. Griegson's expecting them. "They'll be out in a second," he tells Ian and Joe, opening up the back door on Ian's side.

Joe just nods his thanks, only glancing up briefly at Antony. All his attention’s currently focused on Ian and how miserable he looks and sounds. He just rubs gently up and down Ian’s spine.

 _I want to die....just let me fucking die...._ Ian tries to spit out the last of the vomit in his mouth as Antony opens the door, he tips his head back against the headrest and turns one hazy blue eye on Antony. “Can’t take...any more...” 

"You've already done the hardest part," Antony tells him, stepping back as two orderlies and a nurse come through the doors with a gurney. "They're going to take care of you. He puked in the car, in the bin, so watch out," he tells them as they move to get Ian out, gingerly helping him onto the gurney, his sounds of pain strengthening Antony's resolve that he's going to hunt down the asshole who did this and put a fucking end to him.

Crawling out of the car after the orderlies get Ian out, Joe watches them put him on the gurney. He doesn’t even realize that each pain-sound Ian makes brings a quiet whimper up in the back of his own throat.

Ian’s unaware of his short journey into the clinic, lost in his own misery he lays unmoving, wishing he could just pass the fuck out and wake up later - and find that this was all some horrific nightmare. 

It’s only the sound of Antony’s voice that pulls him back to himself and he opens his one good eye, looking around for Joe. 

When Joe sees Ian searching, he leans down into his line of sight. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, “They’re gonna take care of you.”

The gurney's pushed into a large cubicle, the curtains drawn on both sides even though it's eerily silent compared to a regular ER. "Dr. Griegson will be done in a minute," the nurse tells them. "You can have a seat over there," pointing at the wall opposite. "We need to start running some blood tests and basic panels before he gets here.”

For a while Ian lets himself relax into the half conscious haze his body is tempting him with, aware that now they’re here he’ll get the help he needs and that Antony can look after Joe. 

Once they’ve taken Ian, Joe looks around, more than a little lost. He slides down into a plastic chair, head dropping forward into his hands.

"Hey, it's okay. He's in good hands now," Antony says, taking a seat beside Joe. He hesitates for a moment then places a hand on Joe's back, softly rubbing through his shirt. "I've known this guy - Dr. Griegson - for a long time. He's one of the best."

Matt nods a quick greeting to Antony, heading straight for the cubicle Ian's in. He recognized the name from the show his niece always watches but he barely recognizes the man on the stretcher. "Ian? I'm Dr. Griegson. I'm going to be taking care of you," he says softly, leaning over him. "I understand from Antony that you ingested some drugs earlier this evening. Cocaine and ecstasy? Is that right?"

Ian stirs himself to open his good eye and he swallows before answering. “Yeah, I snorted the coke, I think it was E...forced on me...makes me sick, puke, so I know that feeling...” he frowns a little. “But not sure...”

Matt nods, gently checking Ian over while he talks. "We're not too concerned about that right now. Antony told the nurse you vomited a number of times on the way over so you've likely already cleared everything from your system. We're going to do a CT scan and an ultrasound to check your kidneys and rule out any internal bleeding and after that, it looks like you have a few cuts which are going to need stitches and I understand we need to run a rape kit. Do I have your consent for that?"

 _Rape kit_ The words are ugly and jar in Ian’s head. “Um...yeah...I...my partner...we had unprotected sex a couple of days ago...jus...just so you know,” He brings a hand up to rub at his forehead. “Can I get some pain relief? Please?”

"I'm sorry. We can't give you anything until we rule out any internal bleeding," Matt says, checking the pupil in Ian's good eye. "But we'll run those tests right away so we can give you something if they're clear."

“Okay,” Ian’s too tired, too sick to argue. “Just...” he trails off as if he’s forgotten what he was going to say. “Thank you,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Matt takes the clipboard from the nurse and writes down all the tests he wants done, the results to be rushed and delivered only to him. "When you're done with the CT and ultrasound, we'll put you into a room and do the kit, and then the sutures. At that point, your partner and Antony can come in and see you. Okay?" He hands the clipboard back over. "I'll see you when you're done."

Ian on his way, Matt heads back to the seating area.

"Here he comes," Antony says, rising to his feet. "Is he okay?"

"He should be," Matt says, nodding at both men. "I'm Dr. Griegson. You're Joe, Ian's partner?"

Having stood when Antony had, Joe nods in answer to the doctor’s question. “Yeah,” he confirms, “I’m Joe. Is he going to be okay? Do you know anything? Can I-- when can I see him?”

"We're running tests right now," Matt explains slowly. "We're doing a CT scan and ultrasound to rule out kidney damage and any internal bleeding. X-rays to check that nothing's broken. Blood tests, sutures for a couple of the cuts. He's in a lot of pain, as you know, but we're hoping to give him something for it after we've done the CT and the ultrasound." He pauses, giving them both a soft smile. "Once he's in a room and we've made him comfortable, you can see him. It might be a couple of hours though and we'll definitely be keeping him overnight for observation."

Wordlessly, Joe nods, sinking back down into his chair when his legs start to feel like they’re not going to hold him anymore.

Antony nods. "You'll keep us informed?"

"Definitely," Matt says. "There's a more comfortable waiting room down the hall on the right, if you want to wait there. There's free coffee, something to eat if you want it. I'll come find you here or there when there's news."

"Thanks," Antony says, sitting back down beside Joe. "You want to move to the other waiting room?"

“I--” Joe’s voice cracks a little and he holds his hands up, palms-up, a helpless gesture. “Sure?” he croaks.

Antony exhales softly. Fuck. If he actually _knew_ Joe, he'd give the man a hug, but hell, he barely knows Ian when it really comes down to it. Still doesn't know where all the boundaries are. "Let's go grab a cup of coffee and you can either tell me what happened today or you can tell me anything you want about you and Ian - how you met, when he moved in, whatever."

Once they’ve got their coffee (and Joe a snack, since he hasn’t eaten since early that afternoon), Joe sits there and stares into the black liquid for a minute before shaking himself a little and looking up at Antony. “So,” he sighs the word out, “What do you want to know?”

"I get why Ian called me," Antony says, hands cupped around his own mug. "What I don't get is why he felt the need to search out this freak when he couldn't get a hold of me. What happened that he couldn't wait? Do you know?"

Joe starts to shake his head but he checks himself quickly. “I--” he starts, licking over his own split lip before going on, “We had some-- rather intense sex, night before last. It-- I--” Joe drops his eyes to his own mug once again. “I offered something and he-- didn’t take me up on it,” Joe’s voice has dropped to barely above a whisper by the end.

"But whatever it was upset him?" Antony says.

Huffing out a small, wry, almost-bitter laugh, Joe shakes his head, “It always does.”

Antony stares at Joe for a moment. “Dare I ask?” 

“It was just... me,” Joe says with a shrug, voice gone small and sad.

Fuck. "Regardless of what caused it, I think we can both agree he shouldn't be doing this," Antony says. "That he _can't_ be doing this again. This guy could have killed him." He shakes his head. "I'll send him home to you bruised and battered, and you might not get what we do or how hard we do it, but you're not ever going to have to worry that he won't be coming home or that he'll be seriously hurt."

“He promised,” Joe whispers, looking up at Antony, “Back home, he promised me he wouldn’t do it like this again. I hope--” blowing out a breath, Joe finishes, “I hope that means he won’t be calling anyone else. He trusts you... so I do, too.”

"Thanks," Antony murmurs, sipping at his coffee. "Look. I don't doubt he means it now but I worry that when all of this fades and he's a few months down the road and I'm out of town... I want to think he wouldn't do it again, because after being this badly hurt..." _he'd have to be a fucking idiot to do it again. Either that or suicidal. Christ._ "What I'm getting at is that I want to give you guys a name. A mate of mine. He works for my company. He's into this shit too. The difference being _again_ that he'll take care of Ian. One, because he's a good guy and two, because I'll hunt him down if he doesn't. But he lives here in L.A and he's here all the time, so if Ian really needed someone and I wasn't around, he'd be better than playing Russian roulette with whoever else Ian has on his list."

As Antony talks, Joe just nods slowly. “Okay,” he eventually says after turning the offer over for a few seconds, “Thanks, that--” and here, Joe reaches out to press fingers over Antony’s wrist briefly, “Thank you. I’ll take it, even if Ian doesn’t want it right now.” He’ll be damned if he lets something like this happen again.

Antony breathes a huge sigh of relief. Strangely grateful for Joe's willingness to do this. To let him take care of them. He pulls a business card from his wallet and writes down "Christos" and his mate's cell number on the back, pushing the card across to Joe. "I'll let him know he might or might not hear from you guys."

“Okay,” Joe nods, quickly reading over the card before tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Thank you,” he repeats.

"You're welcome." Antony smiles. Happy to be done with that part of things. "So. You got him to move in with you?"

A small smile tips up the corners of Joe’s mouth at that, just a hint of dimples peeking out. “I didn’t really,” he admits, “It just sorta happened...” He trails off, shrugging. A wider smile splits Joe’s face when he tells Antony, “He did ask me to come live with him once he’s in the new house, though.”

"I didn't know he was moving," Antony says. Of course he hasn't told Ian about Stephen either. "That's fantastic. Congratulations." He grins across at Joe. "I'm assuming you said yes?"

Spreading his hands, Joe’s face goes a little softer, a little more introspective. “How could I have said anything else?” he asks quietly, and it’s fairly clear that Antony’s not who he’s asking.

"I'm really happy for you both," Antony says, playing with the handle on his mug. "It's a huge step and it says really good things that he's willing to take it." Despite the fact they're sitting in some fucking hospital in the middle of the night, waiting to hear if Ian really will be okay.

***

As Matt estimated, it's been a couple of hours since he last talked to Antony and Joe when he steps into the lounge. He nods at Antony, Joe's back to him, motioning for them both to sit down when they start to rise. "Hey. Sorry we took so long," he says, taking a seat himself, exhaustion starting to make him a little sloppy in his bedside manner. It's been a while since he pulled this kind of a night - and come to think of it, the last time was with one of Antony's guys too. One of his crew anyway. "We've got him in a room and he's resting and he's going to be fine. Those are the big things."

Joe’s shoulders slump a little, both with relief and with exhaustion. He makes a soft, choked little sobbing sound, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. Otherwise, though, he remains silent, waiting to hear what else the doctor has to say.

"And the little things?" Antony prompts, breathing his own sigh of relief but sensing the coming but...

Matt sighs. "He's got three cracked ribs, three sutured cuts for a total of twenty-two stitches, multiple hematomas, bruises," he quickly corrects. "A moderate concussion. We're monitoring his kidneys. They're definitely bruised but we're waiting on one more blood test that has to be done tomorrow to give him all the clear."

Antony nods, taking all that in. "When can we see him?" he asks, knowing it's about the only thing on Joe's mind.

"You can see him now but I should warn you both, he's all wired up. We have lines for monitors, an IV for painkillers and liquids. He's got a catheter so we can monitor his urine production. He's also all bandaged up and pretty groggy in general, so just, keep that in mind." Matt rises to his feet. "He's in room 214, second floor if you take the stairs out to your right and..."

"I can find it," Antony assures him, holding out a hand. "Thanks for everything. Are you headed home?"

"After I check on a few things," Matt says, shaking Antony's hand, "but they'll call me if anything changes and you can ring me tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course," Antony says, a look passing between them. "C'mon Joe. Let's go see how he is."

A little startled when he hears his name, Joe quickly stands and follows Antony up the flight of stairs and down the hall. As soon as he sees Ian lying in the bed, once Antony’s opened the proper door, Joe’s got attention for nothing and no one else.

“Hey, baby,” Joe whispers, suddenly standing beside Ian’s bed and brushing fingertips over his lover’s knuckles, “You awake?”

Ian stirs when the door opens, but he only opens his eyes when Joe speaks to him, he’s had people in and out of his room since he was wheeled in here a while ago. He turns his head and opens his one good eye, and the corner of his mouth curls up in a slow smile. “Hey J...” he slurs a little. “I feel better,” he murmurs. “Now you’re here...s’all good,”

The last remnants of Joe’s control shred when he hears that. He sinks down into the chair next to the bed, curling in on himself until his forehead’s pressed against the backs of Ian’s fingers. There’s no controlling the way his body shakes, wracked with sobs, but he at least manages to keep them essentially silent, no sound escaping but the harsh panting of his breath.

Tugging his hand free Ian drops it on the back of Joe’s head, his fingers stroking his hair. “Hey..my darlin’...s’okay,” he licks his lips and goes on. “S’okay now,”

Joe nods slightly to show he’s heard, but he can’t seem to control his own body at the moment. It’s needed this release and now that it’s started, it’s going to finish, whether he likes it or not.

Ian’s aware of Joe’s distress, and a part of him wants to comfort more than he can, but he’s also utterly wasted on some serious pain medication, so all he can do is simply keep up the soft play of his fingers in Joe’s hair and the occasional whispered. “Shh darlin’, s’okay,”

It doesn’t take long for Joe to wear himself out. Eventually he goes quiet and still, only moving to reach up and press his hand gently over Ian’s.

“J...” Ian turns his head and shifts a little in the bed, only wincing slightly “Come up, I need a kiss,” he urges, wanting Joe to look at him properly to see he really is _okay_ now. “Need to see those beautiful eyes of yours...”

Huffing out a hint of a laugh, Joe lifts his head. “Not so beautiful right now,” he croaks, thinking how puffy and red-rimmed his eyes must be right now, what with his recent emotional breakdown on top of the day’s exhaustion.

“Always,” Ian retorts, bringing his hand up to let his fingers dance over Joe’s cheek. “I’m so sorry J...for this...” And he knows it’s not done, because regardless of the outcome of his rape kit, he knows there is more fallout to come. “Never again, promise,”

“I know,” Joe reaches up to press Ian’s hand against his cheek, “And I’m going to hold you to that.” It’s not an accusation, but a solemn statement of intent - Joe’s going to be around and he’s going to remind Ian of his promise whenever he must.

Ian nods, then closes his eyes as he drifts off on a wave of drug-induced haziness, his hand going limp against Joe’s face. 

Antony's stayed back, by the door, his gaze averted, trying his best not to listen in on the two men. But when Ian finally falls asleep again, he moves forward to check on Joe. "What do you want to do?" he asks. "Are you staying until he's released?"

Joe glances up at Antony and nods, dropping his eyes back to his lover. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m not leaving him.”

Antony nods. It's pretty much what he expected. "Do you want me to stay with you? Or can I run back to the house and bring you some clothes or anything? Food, more coffee..." he offers. "I'm good with staying or running errands or whatever you want. I just need to make a call and let," damn, this really isn't the way he wanted this to come out, "my boy," he finishes, "know what I'm doing."

A small, grateful smile settles on Joe’s features and he gives his head a little shake. “No, I’ll be okay. You go on home to your boy,” he says, “When they get ready to release him, I’ll call the club for a car and a home nurse to help me get him home and settled.” His eyes shining with sincerity, Joe adds, “Thank you. For-- everything.”

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could help out," Antony says, looking at Ian lying there looking so fucking broken. They may play hard, they may beat the shit out of each other, but they don't do _this_. "I'd like to stop over and see him if that's okay? Not tomorrow since you'll be getting settled, but maybe the next day? If you want to give me your number," he continues, handing over his phone so Joe can put it in, "I'll call to see when's good."

"Sure," Joe nods, taking the phone and entering his own cell number into it. He hesitates a moment before finally offering it back with a quiet, "Any time," sincerity shining in his eyes.

Antony nods. "If you change your mind or need anything, don't hesitate to call me or have them call Dr. Griegson back in," he tells Joe, clasping his shoulder for a moment before he lets go. "And tell Ian... tell him I'm glad you called me." He gives Joe another small smile then takes his leave.

Joe nods again, absently, to signal to Antony he’s heard, but he can tell the man’s on his way out and his attention is once more all for the person lying so still in the hospital bed. He settles back in his chair, just watching Ian’s face as he sleeps, reassuring himself that he’s still there and everything’s going to be okay... eventually.


End file.
